SERMON, LENT 5C, LUKE 20:9-19

Today's gospel passage is pretty much smack-dab in the middle of what can be called Jesus' ministry in Jerusalem. He has made the triumphal entry into the city (although, in Luke, without the palms), and his betrayal is right around the corner. Between these two events he laments over Jerusalem, cleanses the temple, debates the religious leaders about his authority, skirts word traps, watched a widow give her last two cents, and talked about the end times. From the moment he hits town, Jesus seems to be the center of attention.

In the middle of all this, we get the parable of the wicked tenants, or the parable of the absentee landowner. Like with the prodigal son, there are lots of things you could call this story. Furthermore, there is some debate as to whether this is an actual parable of Jesus, or a later allegory of the early church. Regardless of that, what can we glean from this story?

First, let's look at the line between punishment and mercy; or maybe between the law and grace.

The landowner is a wealthy man, and he leases out that land to tenants to take care of it. He's not in the business of caring for, or providing for, or even paying his tenants. He's in the business of making money. So he allows tenants to farm it for a subsistence wage. At least they get something, right?

On the other side of the coin, however, are the poor tenants. Rents and taxes took up pretty much their entire income. It was not a money making proposition for them. They scraped by as best they could and tried to find a way to keep from starving to death.

It may as well be the story of the pompous and abusive landowner and the poor, downtrodden peasants. The story is a reflection of a feudal system that really is futile. Eventually the peasants revolt, if for no other reason than to have enough to eat.

The people hearing the story probably understood all to well the abuses that this system generated; so when Jesus says that the owner will destroy them and give the vineyard to others, they respond, "Heaven forbid!" Heaven forbid because it's law without mercy. Is it more wrong for the tenants to fight to survive than it is for the owner to keep them in poverty?

From here it would be easy to launch into a sermon on economic injustices and how important things like living wages are; or maybe how equitable partnerships are better than economic systems that increase the gap between the rich and poor. I could, but I won't.

What I want to talk about instead is this story as an allegory for the church. In this scenario, the landowner is God, the abused slaves are the prophets, the tenants are the scribes and priests of Israel, and the son is Jesus. Is there anybody who doesn't make that connection?

The early church, and probably many in the church today, see this as a story of Israel's rejection of Christ. That rejection leads to God removing the status of "chosen people" from Israel and giving it to the Christian church. Because the religious leaders of Israel abused the prophets, were a driving force behind Jesus' execution, and refused to harvest the crop for the benefit of others, God decided to allow somebody other than his chosen people to have a share of the harvest.

The church used this to rationalize their place. They were the new chosen people to work the harvest and spread God's kingdom. There are at least two problems with this. First, it marginalizes and demonizes the Jews. By claiming that their status as God's chosen people has been removed, it makes it okay for Christians to feel superior to them. We don't have to associate with them because God doesn't associate with them.

Along those same lines, it makes it easy for Christians, or non-Jews, to label them as Christ-killers. And since their great sin was to kill the Son of God, then it's okay to purge the world of them. Things like the Holocaust become acceptable. After all, the chief cornerstone will crush anyone it falls on; we're just sort of providing the aim.

The second problem is that it totally neglects the fact that the landowner, God, removed the tenants and chose someone else to work his field. It stands to reason, then, that if we don't do our job, we ourselves can be removed in favor of someone else. We can't claim to be special just because God picked us.

We can, however, claim to be special because God picked us AND because we pay attention to what God is asking us to do. And what is it God is asking us to do? How about tempering the law with mercy? Working to ensure living wages. Letting our political leaders know war is unacceptable. Helping to feed the hungry by filling up that food basket every week. Or even, on the eve of Holy Week when we all condemn Christ to death, standing up and proclaiming Christ as our Savior and working towards a fruitful harvest by sharing your story and inviting the outsider inside.

Lent is drawing to a close. Our journey through the wilderness is almost ended. Our part in killing the Son looms on the horizon. Have we paid attention to what God is trying to tell us, or do we think that the vineyard belongs solely and exclusively to us? Because, forgettting the allegory for a moment, it was the exclusivity and self-centeredness that got the original tenants in trouble. Our job is to listen to God and to work the field so that everyone can enjoy the harvest.